O For The Gentleness Of Old Romance,

Turn The Key Deftly In The Oiled Wards, And Seal The Hushed Casket Of My Soul.

The Uttered Part Of A Man's Life, Let Us Always Repeat, Bears To The Unuttered, Unconscious Part A Small Unknown Proportion. He Himself Never Knows It, Much Less Do Others.

Where Soil Is, Men Grow, Whether To Weeds Or Flowers.

The Thought, The Deadly Thought Of Solitude.

But Let Me See Thee Stoop From Heaven On Wings That Fill The Sky With Silver Glitterings!